


Upon A Dream

by stilastarla



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Memory Loss and Recovery, Sandman myth, Slow Burn, winter soldier persona
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7112374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilastarla/pseuds/stilastarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s always been a Sandman in your family and now it’s your turn. Sent into the field while on temporary loan to the Avengers, Bucky discovers you can unlock memories and asks you to help put his together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Never tried second person POV so here goes. And I am Bucky trash. And just as important, I don't own MCU or the characters, just the persona of the Sandman and plot.

You weren’t meant to be in the field. Your element was cool grey walls, steel tables secured to the floor and two chairs: one for you and the other was for whoever it was you were meant to interrogate. You wore nice crisp shirts and blouses and knee length skirts, as per dress protocol. Some days, you even wore heels.

The weight of the kevlar was not unfamiliar. Your workplace included a gym and professional trainers who could do a lot more than just help you benchpress weights. You could think of one or two who might actually be able to hold their own against Hawkeye and the Widow. The Department, as it was constantly referred to, was like mini-S.H.I.E.L.D land, sans Hydra agents of course. Like all big organisations that collapsed, there was an inevitable regrouping and revamping, all done under-wraps of course. Unsurprisingly, Hydra had the same idea, which explained why you were here in the first place. Well, at least partially. 

There were two other reasons for your presence. Wanda Maximoff was away on a mission and it just so happened that intel had picked up Dr Aldrich’s latest hideaway. Like all enemy bases, it was hidden away in some remote mountaintop accessible only to several species of raptors and mountain goats. That meant a bumpy plane–or rather jet–ride, courtesy of an ill-timed storm. You tried not to remember than storms were ill omens. After all, Thor was an Avenger and that had to count for something. 

“Remember, Dr Aldrich is a beta-level telepath, hence the necessity for stealth. If he wakes up, knock the bastard out with the sleeper darts and let Morpheus do her thing.”

And that was the second reason why you were here. You had telepathic abilities as well. They were of a very specific nature, but telepathic nonetheless. So you had to go since the other telepaths in the stable of the Organisation Formerly known as S.H.I.E.L.D either lacked experience, were not strong enough to take on Aldrich, or had been Hydra agents who were now six feet under. Hill had pressed that point when she had given you no choice. You rolled your eyes. “There’s only one Morpheus, Stark and his name is Laurence Fishburne.”

“Great, now that that’s settled, what did you say your name was again?”

This was Stark’s version of payback, throwing little nicknames at you because you wouldn’t tell anyone your true name. That was classified and for good reason too. At work, people called you Sandy, thanks to the fact that your codename was Sandman. You would have rather settled for Agent 384 but even in a place like the Department, it was a tad impersonal. After four years, you had to admit that it had grown on you, or at least the colleagues turned friends who called you that had. God, you missed them. You wished they were here to have your back, if only for the comfort of having a familiar face. There was no way you doubted the abilities of anyone onboard this jet or the other one that was following. 

Tuning out the sounds of Hawkeye and Black Widow snipping over the intercom about how rich it was that someone as showy as Stark was reminding them to keep the mission low key, you eyed Captain Steven Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes who were currently playing pilot and co-pilot. The Winter Soldier had come out from his cryogenic sleep the last time the world had been in peril, and he had a new bionic arm made of vibranium, courtesy of King T’Challa. While everyone had fought to save Earth from annihilation by yet another alien race, it had been Bucky and Steve who had delivered the crucial blow that had turned the tide of the assault. It had taken that, and a hell of a lot of negotiations on Stark’s part but the Sokovian Accords had been amended and pardons had been issued. The ‘vigilante’ Avengers were officially sanctioned as part of the team, provided Stark supervised. Thaddeus Ross was a busy man these days, getting nations to greenlight the presence of Avengers on their soil, but he was in no position to complain. And back at the Avengers’ base of operations, the Winter Soldier and Iron Man steered clear of each other. Clearly forgiveness only went a certain amount of distance. 

You were in good hands. Having assured yourself of that, you lightly touched the guns holstered at your thighs and checked once more the one at your waist. You had tiny flash bombs and a long knife as well. The latter was really only if you were out of bullets and cornered. You were good, but not that good when it came to physical combat. But with four Avengers along for the ride, you were sure that things would be fine. 

============================================================================================

Things had gone to hell in a handbasket. The good news was, the room was currently locked shut and the muzzle of your gun was pressed hard enough against the good doctor’s temple to leave an imprint. Outside, some kind of grenade went off and you could hear Rogers yelling instructions. Barton and Romanov were engaged in a gun battle. For a moment, you heard nothing from Barnes and the thought that he was dead flitted through your mind before you heard a savage growl and the sound of a neck snapping. “Got him,” the Winter Soldier rasped.

“How long do you think your friends can hold out?” Aldrich asked mildly. He looked so normal, almost nice. He didn’t even look afraid, more like sleep-rumpled and a bit bleary-eyed with his blankets still pulled around him. And totally trying to take your off guard. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warned as a red glow began to coalesce around his head. “One more pulse of psychic energy and I’ll blow your brains out.”

Grey eyes flicked to the side as he looked at you, really looked at you for the first time. “You’re one of us.”

“Does ‘us’ include those children you’ve got locked in your secret lab of horrors? That’s what we’re here for and that’s why my colleagues will do more than just hold out.”

“Such ignorance. I’m seeking to free their minds, to enhance their powers.”

“And leaving a trail of dead children in the wake of your pioneering methods.” 

“You revile me. But you are here, and not out there. So there’s something you want from me: my formula.”

On your best day, you could give a bone-chilling smile like Romanov and today was one of those days. “Close your eyes,” you murmured, settling yourself carefully on the bed he was sitting on. The room dissolved in a warm golden flash of bright light and the floor beneath both of you vanished. Aldrich gasped at the sharpness and speed of the fall. Thick golden clouds of what looked like glitter swarmed into his eyes, nose and mouth as you dragged him down into sleep and into the psychic realm. When you finally landed, you looked around to see that you were in a field just beyond a quaint old town. Aldrich had been born and raised here. You recognised it from his files. Hmm…not exactly where you had intended to go, and that meant the good doctor was definitely not a slouch either. You had been aiming for the dream he had been having just before the first explosion woke him. That would have brought you much closer to finding the formula for the serum. Now, you had years to weave through in perhaps a few minutes in the real world. 

It was time to get to work.

============================================================================================

When you woke, Aldrich was still asleep. A quick glance at the clock showed that twenty minutes had passed. It had felt like a lifetime in his head. You groaned, picking yourself up. Then you retrieved your gun and shot the doctor twice in the head, taking his pulse for good measure just to be sure that the monster was dead. 

You had your hand on the access panel, about to open the door when the presence of another mind touched yours. Fire. Blood. Anticipation. Whipping around, you ran for the cover of the bed, sliding behind it just in time as the door and part of the wall exploded in a shower of chunks and warped metal. You didn’t need to look to aim; you could sense the Hydra soldiers, could see them in your mind as glowing psychic energy forms where they stood as you raised your hand and fired away, trying not to choke on the thick grey dust that swirled in the air as it settled on you. There were too many though and if they threw in a grenade it would be over.

“I’m pinned down!” you shouted, hoping the roar of gunfire didn’t drown out your voice. 

“Sandman, hold on! We’re coming for you.”

“I got her.” It was Barnes.

And just like that you sensed his presence; he was very close, practically around the corner. Grabbing three flash bombs, you lobbed them at the soldiers who beat a hasty retreat. Those you didn’t manage to shoot ended up in the pathway of the Winter Soldier. The fight was over within minutes. Some of the men were dead before they knew it but you could feel their terror and hear the screams issued from their minds that never made it to their lips. Shaking it off, you scrambled out from behind the bed and almost ran smack into Barnes. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Did you get the kids?” In response, he grasped your arm and forced you into a flat out run down the ruined hallway. 

“We got them,” Black Widow’s voice crackled in your ear. “Barton and I are putting them on the jets now. Did you get the package?”

“Yes.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Of course the exit route you planned to take was sealed off and that meant the dodging of more bullets while you and Barnes returned fire. “Not there,” you panted, discharging the empty clip from your gun before slamming a fresh one in. You were down to one reserve clip and that was not happy news. You could feel the minds of the soldiers coming your way. “Up here!” Barnes let you go first; he was covering your back and you were grateful for it. The stairs seemed to go on forever and by the time you made it to the roof, every muscle in your legs and lower back was burning. 

“We’re five storeys above ground.” Barnes looked over the edge before turning his deep blue gaze back to you.

“Well, considering that we were ten levels below ground and they took out the lifts…” The lack of breath and the effort it took to straighten up and stop leaning on your knees halted your excuses. You were panting loudly enough to make yourself wince but the man hadn’t even broken a sweat and his breathing was completely even. Sometimes, you wished you’d gotten the super soldier serum as well. 

“Guys, I’d hate to interrupt but do you think you could get a move on?” It was Stark in his supervisory role. He couldn’t be there, but it was down on record that he was present, in a way.

“Shut up,” you snapped. Barnes stretched out his arm and you knew what he intended. When you went to him, he scooped you up effortlessly. It was a bit unnerving to feel the unnatural hardness of the bionic arm through the layer of kevlar and Barnes was a lot warmer than you imagined. As he tucked you closer against him, you couldn’t help but smell the gun powder, smoke and something else you knew was simply just the scent of the man himself. He smelled good, in spite of it all and you were thankful he wasn’t a telepath who could pick up on that inappropriate thought. 

“Ow, you hurt my feelings,” Tony replied. 

“Stop pretending to have any.”

“Bucky, are you guys out yet?” Rogers cut in. There was gun fire coming from the other end of the huge compound. Captain America was making his escape. 

You had no time to breathe as Barnes leapt forward into thin air. In spite of yourself, you yelped and clutched at the man, digging your fingers into the folds of his uniform. If he held you any tighter he would crush you. Then the world stopped its fall as the Winter Soldier landed on the ground. The impact would have shattered a normal man’s legs; Barnes simply proceeded to let you back down on your feet. “We are now. Start the timer.”  


Within three minutes, the entire compound would be blown to hell and back. So both of you began running for the thick forest and against a wild wind that shook the snow laden trees and filled the air with white.


	2. 2

By the time you made it back to the rendezvous point, one jet had already taken off. You knew time was of the essence but the mission had been successfully completed and such an act was not usual, not for Barton and Romanov where the team was concerned. Barring an emergency, they would have waited. 

"One of the kids was in a critical condition. Nat managed to stabilise him but he's gonna need treatment, fast," Steve hollered over the howling of the wind. That earlier storm was back and it came with a vengeance. Thunder cracked overhead, uncomfortably close and you scrambled into the safety of the jet. Six pairs of terrified eyes, some of them with a telltale ring of black and green around them, stared at you. The littlest boy and girl started whimpering. When Bucky came up from behind, almost all of them broke into tears. 

"I don't think it's personal, Barnes," you whispered, unable to resist before you strapped yourself in. Bucky merely shot you a quick glare before taking his seat next to Steve. Lift off was going to be a bitch and you ran your eyes quickly over the children, checking to see if they were completely strapped in. Of course they were; they had been with Captain America, after all. 

To their credit, none of the kids threw up although a couple of them came close to doing so. There were four boys and two girls, and they all had some telepathic abilities. They were also projecting so loudly that their terror, as well as all sorts of other information they unwittingly revealed, threatened to scramble your own thoughts. The fears of a child were always greater than that of an adult's and these children had been through hell. "It's okay," you said in the most soothing tone you could manage once the jet had stabilised and Roger's and Barnes' movements didn't have as much tension as when the jet had first taken off. That was a good sign. "Hey, see what I have here."

You had come prepared. Unstrapping yourself from your seat, you dragged out a bag that had been tightly wedged beneath it. Unzipping it, you scooped out Mars Bars, Snickers, Skittles and a couple of cans of juice. There was a similar bag aboard the other jet and you had no doubt that Barton was probably handing out the candy as well. As you stretched out your hands to them, the children shrank back. "I'm a friend," you said. "I won't hurt you."

"That's what he said," a boy spoke up. Noah, his name was Noah and from the way the others looked at him, he was the one who took care of them. He wasn't the oldest, but he looked the least cowed, which for this group wasn't saying much. 

"Okay, that's fair enough." You put the candy back into the bag and with slow deliberate movements, left it on the seat next to the child nearest to you, a little girl of seven whose name was Penny, short for Penelope. "But you know him right? Captain America, stars and stripes, the First Avenger? Since he hasn't tossed me overboard, I must be one of the good guys, or at least I'm definitely not a bad guy." 

Penny was looking surreptitiously into the bag. The boy next to her, Max, licked his lips as he peered over her shoulder. "And you can see for yourself," I added.

"My mummy says you can't tell if a person is good or bad by just looking at them," Noah replied. 

"I don't mean 'see' as in with your eyes. I meant with your mind." And with that, you dropped your mental shields. The children inhaled sharply as a group as they realised what you really were, what you had been hiding. "It's okay, you have permission."

For a moment, nobody did anything. And then you felt it, a curious probing, a gentle press and buzz, almost akin to small fingers touching your mind, the brush of another presence, and another, and another as they skimmed the surface of your thoughts. You kept yourself open, unfolded memories and feelings, let them peer into the parts of your past that weren't classified as off-limits. You let them feel you, your relief now that they were safe, the anticipation of reuniting them with their parents and for two of them, with an aunt and a foster mother.

Then Imelda began to cry. She howled so loudly that you heard Rogers and Barnes turn around to see what was wrong. "She can't remember them," Noah said helplessly as the group tried to comfort her. Penny grabbed a candy bar which Max passed to Imelda but it remained neglected. Luke, who was all of eight, together with Michael, who was nine, tried projecting feelings of comfort to her. It was a valiant effort, but it failed because her misery was affecting them. 

"He took them away," Imelda sobbed. "He got into my head; he made me drink the medicine and now they're gone." 

Slowly, you moved from you seat and knelt down in front of Imelda so that you were level with her. The last thing she and the rest needed was an intimidatingly tall adult towering over them while they were strapped to their seats. "I don't know what exactly he did to you," you said slowly, which was partially the truth. "But I think I can help you."

Her eyes were huge and bright with tears. “Really?” she whispered. 

“You see, in my experience, I don’t think memories can be completely destroyed. They can be hidden; they can be distorted—that means changed so that you can’t recognise them,” you clarified when several of the kids frowned, “but unless the doctor actually did something physical to your brain, you still have your memories. And if you’ll give me your permission,” you made sure to emphasise those last two words, “I’ll try to find your mommy and daddy.”

She wanted your help but she was clearly terrified. Then Luke spoke up. Small and slight, he wore a pair of spectacles; there was a lens missing and the other was cracked. He noticed you looking and there was a quick flash, a vision of red and pain and fists as Luke fought against the man that had taken him. “It’s alright, Immy. She’s the Sandman. The Sandman brings good dreams. My dad read the story to me.” He shifted his gaze to you. “You’re very old. And you used to be a man. I saw that in your head.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard a choked off grunt from either Rogers or Barnes and you just knew the two of them were staring at you. Even so, your lips twitched with amusement as you tried not to laugh. “I think what you saw was my grandfather. He was the Sandman before me. And before him, there was my great grandma. You see, the old Sandman has to teach the new Sandman and one of those things they leave behind is a box full of memories, something for the new Sandman to open and go through from time to time.” 

“You miss him,” Max piped up, his hands still clutching the candy bar he had tried passing Imelda. 

“Yes, I do. And that’s why I’d like to help. But only if you say it’s okay.”

A small eternity passed but eventually Imelda gave the smallest, most hesitant of nods. You wanted to squeeze her hands to reassure her but decided against it. Returning to your seat, you strapped yourself back in. “Alright, let’s start.”

Legend had it that the Sandman always came with gold dust to sprinkle into the eyes of those who slept. That part at least, was somewhat accurate. The children gasped and muttered audibly and though your eyes were closed, you knew what it was they were seeing. Tendrils of gold curled up from the ground and climbed gently into the air; they were shaped like vines and flowers. They dripped golden motes that danced on a wind of their own, floating and brushing and bumping gently into the children, some of whom were wore the beginnings of a smile of wonderment. And all around the cabin, there was light. 

=====================================================================

When you woke, you realised that you were almost at your destination. Such sleep always left you far more drained than restored, but it felt awfully good to see the children quiet, to hear the sounds of their steady deep breaths, to watch their faces still and soft in deep repose, guarded by the best memories which you had woven into dreams like fences to keep monsters at bay.

“What did you do?” 

Unexpectedly, Barnes had asked that question. “I helped Imelda retrieve her memories. Aldrich had them buried; his serum has some effects that resemble amnesia.”

“And the rest of the kids? They suddenly just dropped off to sleep.”

That came from Rogers and you knew what he was getting at. “They asked me to, not with words that you can hear. They are telepaths, after all. And they were exhausted; they hardly slept at all because the guards would come for them at random hours. They had no way of telling whether it was day or night in that basement.”

Unclipping your seatbelt, you stretched your arms and legs, wincing at the soreness of your muscles. You needed sleep, real sleep, and soon. And as much as you were looking forward to handing the children over to Hill who would then see them safely home to their parents and deal with the various police departments and the FBI, all of whom had been investigating the cases of the missing children before the Department had gotten involved, you dreaded telling her that only twelve had come home. The other eight had died before you and the Avengers had arrived. It was a terrible fact gleaned from the minds of the children as you sent them into a deep sleep. 

It was something that was still weighing on you three hours later, when you finally arrived at the sanctuary of your room. The kids with Barton and Natasha had already been whisked off, and the ones with you were still sleeping when they had been passed into the arms of several agents from the Department. You didn’t recognise any of them though, but you knew where they were from because Hill was there, watching everything with a weary but clear eye. She already knew about the other eight; either Barton or Romanov had informed her. There was an hour long debriefing, most of which was spent writing down Aldrich’s formula. And now finally, you were back in the Tower. 

The extremely hot shower did wonders for your muscles as you scrubbed away gunpowder residue and some of the horrors of the day. By the time you stepped out, your skin was rosy from the heat, the mirrors of the bathroom clouded white. Slipping on a pair of sleeping shorts and an old t-shirt, you towelled your hair dry before deciding to forgo using a blow dryer. You were just too tired. “Friday, could you bring the blinds down please?”

“Certainly, Agent 384.” 

“Thank you.” It felt a little strange saying that to the A.I. but Friday was as sentient as the next person and besides, manners were manners as your grandpa always said. You had been so young when he had gone, never to come back. It was only when you felt the slight burning at the back of your eyes did you realise that the day’s mission had shaken you more than you cared to consider. 

Settling on the bed, you pulled your complaining body into a loose cross-legged seating position, your hands resting on your knees, palms up, fingers uncurled. The near silent hum of the air-conditioning was what you chose to focus on, a soft and soothing song in the otherwise absolute silence of the room. You could feel yourself falling deeper, half conscious, half asleep as you walked between dreams and wakefulness. 

There it was, the red brick wall, covered with deep green moss that glistened in the light of the sun. And there was the gate, the hinges of which always grated when you swung it open. Grandpa was forever promising to oil them and he never got around to it. Up the steps to the door, and behind the glass panels you could see Guinevere, the family dog, huge and still majestic in spite of old age. 

You were home—

The sound of knocking stirred you from the dream and brought you tumbling back to reality. With a sharp inhalation, you felt the soft sheets and firm mattress beneath you. The smell of home vanished like smoke in the wind. “Who the hell is that?” you muttered irately.

“I believe that is Sergeant Barnes. He has been standing outside your door for exactly two minutes and thirty seconds now.”

And you’d only just heard the knocking? You must have been under more deeply than you’d realised. Sliding off the bed, you strode towards the door and hit the button on the access panel. The door slid open to reveal the tall form of the Winter Soldier. Like yours, his hair was damp and he was dressed in normal clothing. Okay, he was a tad more dressed than you were, in a simple black sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and dark grey jeans. Once again you noticed how good he smelled and gave yourself a mental smack. “Hi. Is there something you need?”

He looked down the corridor, almost furtively before pinning you with that intense blue gaze. “Can I come in?”

You had no intention of reading his mind but you couldn’t help but sense the emotions the man was projecting. For someone who was quite the picture of calm, there was a lot going on inside. So even though every inch of your body and mind demanded that you get back inside and get some sleep, you stepped aside and let Bucky Barnes in.


	3. 3

There was nothing in the room to mark it as yours, simply because it wasn’t yours. Your clothes were in the obscenely large wardrobe, your toiletries in the bathroom that was at least half the size of the room, and the side table held nothing more than your watch and a sterling silver ring that you wore whenever you weren’t in the field. It was the only personal item you had brought with you, a special reminder of a very private and very painful victory won. But there was no way that Bucky Barnes could know that. 

“Would you like some water?” He shook his head. “Have a seat then.” You gestured at the chair next to the desk and settled yourself on the single sofa next to the side table. For a man who was an absolutely unstoppable force on the battlefield, Bucky Barnes was almost comically uncertain of being here, of talking to you. He held himself so still and stiffly that even without your telepathic abilities, you would have easily picked up on the discomfort he was radiating. 

Doubt. Longing. Fear. Those were the strongest feelings that boiled near the surface. But beneath that were hope and a great deal of determination. You looked at his bionic arm that gleamed softly beneath the warm lights of the room. And it came in a flash, bright and thrilling and frightening, just what it was that Bucky Barnes wanted from you. 

“What you told that little girl about memories, that’s true. I know it from experience.”

“That memories can’t be destroyed, just lost. It was Rogers that brought you back, in spite of everything that Hydra had done.”

Someone else might have flinched at the mention of his tormentors. Not Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes though. Beneath the dark shadow of stubble that peppered his cheeks, jawline and some of his throat, the long hair which you felt he sometimes wore like a shield against the rest of the world, the clothes meant to hide his arm, meant to cover him from scrutiny because he’d been hunted for so long and abused for even longer, was someone with mettle born from fire. You wondered if you would survive even half of what he had gone through and in the end, you just felt thankful not to have been put to such tests. 

“He did. But he can’t always reach me; sometimes not when it counts the most.” He spoke clearly and softly, calmly, although the way his throat worked slightly belied all that. It was costing him, just to speak with you about this and you wondered just how many of the Avengers Barnes was actually more than colleagues with. You had wondered that very same thing, the day you moved in to reside temporarily on the same floor as he, Rogers and Wilson did. The rift with Tony Stark could not have been more apparent but the more you thought about it, the more you realised you never really saw anyone else down here with the occasional exception of Natasha and Barton. And even then they spoke more with Rogers and Wilson than they did with Bucky.

“Like when it did with Baron Zemo.” You had read his file; Hill had made sure you had been fully briefed about all the Avengers, especially the ones who were most likely to pose a threat. Banner tried to stay away, unless a threat of epic world-threatening proportions arose. There was nowhere really for Bucky to go to, so he stayed in the tower with the Avengers. 

“I blanked out. I just went under and the next thing I knew, I was in some warehouse with my arm pinned down because Steve didn’t know if I was going to go right back to trying to kill him. I lost my mind.” There was a barely audible whir as the bionic fingers dug slightly into his knee. “It could happen again.” His gaze flicked down before he brought it up to meet yours squarely. “I want you to help me with that.”

You frowned, tempted to toy with a loose thread you spotted at the edge of your nearly threadbare shirt. “Barnes—”

“My name is Bucky,” he interjected quietly. 

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” you replied. All your attempts at addressing Sam as ‘Wilson’ had been shot down and by the end of your second week with the Avengers, you had given up and resigned yourself to being on a first name basis with him. So you got to be Sandy, and he was just Sam. 

“He’d be the first one to tell you that’s a great thing, a step up for me.”

It was a good thing you was seated, because you might have fallen over otherwise. Bucky had cracked a joke. Not that you never saw him smiling or laughing but just never with you. Amusement, just a shade of it, softened his mouth and overall demeanour. It was almost unsettling and in that moment you caught a glimpse of the man he must have been in the past, something that he might never be again.  
“Bucky,” you said carefully, “I don’t know how much I can help. Hydra had you for years. I know what they did and I read about the techniques they used—”

“It’s a minefield here in my head. I know.”

“Wanda might be a better source of help.”

“You know why I won’t ask her.” The shutters came down again, grim and grey; tension that had been ebbing spiked back up and you felt like kicking yourself.

“She’s not Hydra anymore. No more than you are. And her mind is completely her own.”

“Wanda was created to be a weapon by Hydra. She hasn’t had the kind of training that you’ve had.”

You didn’t move a muscle but you knew your eyes gave your surprise away. “You’re not the only one who’s done some reading up,” Bucky shrugged unapologetically. “When you started out with the NYPD you worked Special Victims. You helped a lot of trauma victims who couldn’t remember details. Some of them were suffering from short-term memory loss because of the injuries they sustained.”

And you had been so good that you’d popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar after two years. They had ways of spotting mutants and you had allowed yourself to be recruited after realising how much more good you could do. No more hiding what you were, they had promised. No more worrying about the legal repercussions on all the cases you worked if someone ever found out about your powers. No more quiet guilt to gnaw at your conscience even though the survivors you worked with were willing to do just about anything to put away their attackers; it made going into their heads that much easier and you knew how dangerous that kind could be for the lines you had to keep drawn. This time, the people you helped knew precisely what you were, as did your enemies and they had forfeited their rights by plotting the deaths of others, by trying to sow destruction. Sometimes you wondered about how much damage you had contributed when Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D; it kept you awake at night sometimes, even now. 

“And Wanda’s too close, too much like you,” you said, making sure you didn’t blink as the words rolled off your tongue. Neither did Barnes. “You have secrets you don’t want her to know about. But I will go away eventually and there’s very little possibility that we’ll ever see each other again.” 

“There’s that too.” At least he was being honest about it. 

If you were going to do this, you would need clearance from Hill. And it would probably end up in a report, as understanding as she was and that in turn, would probably end up in someone else’s hands other than hers. Ultimately, there would be no privacy for Bucky, no secrets and given what he had been made to do, you understood so well why he wanted to keep his secrets to himself. He might not have asked for them, but at least they would be his alone to do with as he saw fit. It was a small consolation for all the autonomy taken from him. 

“Do you think you could help me, even with what Hydra has done?” 

He was on the edge of his seat, in every sense of the phrase, and something shifted in your heart. Forget the serum and the bionic arm, here was a survivor asking for your help. Here was the reason why you had decided to use your abilities in the first place to help; it was the reason why you had been given your abilities, according to your grandfather. You didn’t get to choose to be the Sandman; it was the gift that chose you, just as it had all those who had come before, and as it would the ones who would come after.

“I think I could, to some extent. I won’t know how much until I actually see what your mind is like.”

He exhaled, broad shoulders sagging from the weight of the tension he had been carrying and you realised once again just how small you were compared to Bucky. Not that you would ever be considered petite in by any measure in any world; you were pretty strong for a woman and you looked it and you were glad because it meant the hours at the gym paid off. The corners of his eyes turned up; it was the ghost of a smile, of hope that you were looking at. “Do you want to start now?”

“We can, if you want,” you replied. Excitement flared from him but what was worrying were the sudden flashes of fear as well. And there was something else you couldn’t put your finger on yet; it had come and gone that quickly. “Did you tell anyone else about this?”

“No.” The response was so swift he almost cut off your question. “If it works...maybe Steve.”

He wanted to avoid the additional pain of disappointing his best friend. Fair enough, but you knew that was just one more rule you were bending for Bucky. “Is that okay?” he asked hesitantly. Maybe he sensed the exceptions you were making for him. 

“For now. If everything goes well, the decision’s completely yours.” Folding a leg beneath you, you looked at your hands that were lay on your lap, loosely clasped together. Bucky’s hands were interlocked as well, his elbows on his knees. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and he swept it back impatiently with his right hand, as you predicted. Bucky was naturally right-handed, although watching him in battle showed the man was definitely ambidextrous, but you had noticed in the month or so that you had been with the Avengers that he never touched anyone with his bionic arm. It was as though he wanted to pretend it wasn’t there, unless he needed it in a fight. “If things get complicated, we might need someone else in on this. Someone like Steve.” Sessions never went unsupervised in the Department; it was standard protocol established and with good reason. You wondered if you were being overconfident but it was too late now. You had promised. “Let’s establish some goals first. Based on what I know from your files, there are two areas of concern. The first is your memory loss, and obviously you want those back and I’m quite sure I can find those for you. I’m more worried about the second, which is the Winter Soldier inside your head.”

Bucky nodded, nostrils flaring slightly as you mentioned that last bit. “He’s in there, somewhere. I thought time away from the stasis, from the machines would help but all it takes is for someone to say the goddamned words...” More whirring again from the arm and Bucky relaxed his hands automatically even though you made an effort not to drop your eyes to his bionic arm. 

“I can’t promise I can help with that. But if I find those memories, I’ll see what I can do.” But even if you couldn’t, perhaps a near or complete restoration of what he had been like before Hydra would enable him to combat the transformation into the Winter Soldier if anyone ever found out about those words again. 

“Thank you.” It was just two short words but there was a world of quiet gratitude inside and it broke your heart a little; it always did. 

“You remember some of your past, right?” You pushed on. 

“Fragments.”

“That’s good enough; I can work with that. And there’s no time like the present.” You smiled reassuringly but Bucky tried to return it but he couldn’t. There it was again, the fear. “Lean back in that chair so you don’t fall over when we both go to sleep.” He complied but you’d never seen anyone so uncomfortable in a chair. He looked trapped, his fingers wrapped around the armrests like manacles. If he squeezed any harder he was going to break something. “Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed in the gentlest, firmest voice you could muster. “I’m here. I’m right here. I want you to think about the best memory you have with Steve and hold on to that.”

You started with the lightest of touches, extending your mind in his direction, opening his so that he could see the golden coalescence of your psychic energy. For Bucky you presented that as simply a warm light, a quiet but steady glow to ward off unknown terrors. “It’s okay,” you repeated, semiconscious of the fact that you were sinking deeper into the sofa, that you were leaving that world now. So was Bucky. You could see him clearly, eyes heavy with induced slumber but he was struggling, torn between standing his ground and the fierce desire to run and run. So you pushed harder, as much as you dared. You needed him to let you in...

And then you were falling, falling hard and fast, your belly lurching. When you hit the ground, you realised how cold it was. It hurt, and that in itself, while not strange, worried you. Of all the people you had helped, this was the first time a mind that reached out to you resembled more the hostile psychic terrain of an enemy. You knew how to deal with those; you eluded them, disguised yourself as a dream, hid yourself amongst theirs and in a few cases, you obliterated any resistance sent your way. You certainly couldn’t do the latter here in Bucky’s head. 

The sky above was grey and the ground was a blinding white. It was covered in snow, you realised. And that earlier feeling, the one that slipped away too quickly for you to analyse, was back with a vengeance. ‘Hostility.’ It felt like a thousand angry eyes pricking you from all around and you realised just how vulnerable you seemed. There was no cover to hide behind, there was nothing. Bucky had some good memories but clearly you had not reached those and you knew this dream you had fallen into was not one entirely of your making. 

A wind was rising; it hissed against the protective golden glow you threw around yourself like a cloak. ‘Aggression.’ You barely had time to process that before the ghosts began rising from the ground.

With a gasp, you leapt back, the gold light of your power flaring bright as the sun and the hands reaching for you drew back. The wind seethed, whistled its anger. There were so many of them, burning green and yellow and... “Red. That’s blood,” you whispered. Every ghost bore a single red mark, usually on the head or over the heart. Some were missing an eye but what stopped your breath was the fact that all the eyes that were glaring at you were a very familiar shade of blue. They all had Bucky’s eyes. 

The Winter Soldier had been credited with at least two dozen assassinations over the span of fifty years. You counted at least thirty-five, including one president and one nuclear engineer that the Black Widow had not been able to protect. Oh God. Clearly Bucky Barnes remembered his mission kills. He remembered them all.

A hiss from behind came too close and you whirled, a blinding gleam of light arcing from your arm as you pushed back the ghosts that had been sneaking up from behind. Gold dust swirled in a fiery protective circle around you, keeping them at bay. 

As informative as this was, you knew you had outstayed the welcome you’d never been given. It was time to leave.


End file.
